


Trails of Fire

by unfortunatelackofrats



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender, DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)
Genre: 100 Year War (Avatar TV), AU of an AU, Alternate Universe - Avatar & Benders Setting, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Avatar Lena AU, Dewey Duck Has ADHD, Dewey Duck Needs a Hug, Emotional Baggage, Firebending & Firebenders, Gen, Good Uncle Donald Duck, Guilt, Hurt/Comfort, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Older Sibling Huey Duck, Therapeutic Dancing, Webby Vanderquack Has ADHD, lena is the avatar and webby is a fire nation princess basically, scrooge is the fire lord but that's not important lmao, that's not a tag but i wish it was, that's the fic honestly, this is super sad hope you enjoy!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-14
Updated: 2020-03-14
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:02:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23145139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unfortunatelackofrats/pseuds/unfortunatelackofrats
Summary: It's actually pretty easy to hide it, all things considered. It doesn't seem to pose any trouble for Louie, but Dewey’s a bad liar, Huey even more so. The way Dewey manages is by always reminding himself that he isn’t lying to the village; no one has ever once asked him if he was a firebender, which means there’s no fathomable (a Huey Word) way he could possibly be lying even the slightest bit, so there.That’s right. Nothing. He hasn’t lied about anything. He’s not a liar.-----In which Dewey learns what it means to be a firebender. Spoiler alert: this means he needs to learn a lot of things.
Relationships: Background Lena (Disney: DuckTales)/Webby Vanderquack, Dewey Duck & Donald Duck, Dewey Duck & Huey Duck & Louie Duck, Dewey Duck & Huey Duck & Louie Duck & Lena & Webby Vanderquack, Dewey Duck & Lena (Disney: DuckTales), Dewey Duck & Webby Vanderquack
Comments: 7
Kudos: 58





	Trails of Fire

**Author's Note:**

> So this is just the end result of me loving Dewey too much and wanting to see him come to terms with something about himself, because our blue boy is so emotionally dense and let's be honest he needs it. I also just really love the Avatar AU and this is my take on if Dewey was a firebender!
> 
> The title and line breaks are taken from the song "Inferno" from the movie Promare, because I listened to it nonstop while writing this and also it highkey sounds like a very Dewey song. 
> 
> Warning for a few references to the Air Nomad Genocide and for a lotttt of internal conflict/repression in the Dewey.

**trails of fire, you always knew…**

Dewey is five when he and his brothers are running around the yurt, zipping in circles through the main room in a game of discombobulated tag while Uncle Donald half-watches them as he sits on the floor and mends one of their shirts. They’re giggling madly and pushing and scuffling with each other, Dewey most of all, and Huey and Louie laugh wildly and dash through the doorway into their bedroom. Dewey shrieks in delight and throws out his arms forward to follow them, and that's when he watches little yellow bursts sparkle out of his hands and vanish into the air as quickly as they come. 

Dewey is five, and he doesn’t know about the war, and he hasn’t learned what a firebender is. Dewey is five and he sees flame coming from his fingers, so he laughs and does it again. 

He  _ ooh _ s when it happens, the fire crackling a bit and making his face feel warm and good, then fizzling out in a little puff. Dewey wants to try again, he wants to make more—but before he can Uncle Donald is there, grabbing his hands and saying, “Dewey,  _ don’t _ ,” kneeling down in front of him and looking very, very scared. More scared than Dewey has ever seen him. 

“Dewey, don’t do that,” Uncle Donald says again, steadier, holding Dewey’s small hands firmly in his own. He keeps looking up at Dewey, and then at the floor, how you glance at the sun when you don’t want to burn your eyes off. “You can’t—you can’t  _ do  _ that, Dewey, ever.” 

Dewey is five. He hasn’t learned what a firebender is. He asks, “Why?” 

Uncle Donald’s grip tightens. Behind his shoulder, Huey and Louie are peering back into the main room now, hesitant. Dewey tells them with his eyes,  _ I don’t know _ .

“Because…” Uncle Donald takes a deep breath, like he did two months ago when little Louie, staring unseeing into his bowl of stew, had sat silently all through supper and finally asked as Uncle Donald took his bowl away if they had a mom, and, if they did,  _ where is she _ ? “Because you’re very special. You remember how I tell you and your brothers that, always? How special you are to me? You’re all  _ so  _ special, Dewey, but these… these flames you can make—” Uncle Donald seizes up. Dewey can see cannonfire going off in his head, in some epic battle. “They are very dangerous. You can’t tell anybody in the village. You can’t show anyone. Only I can know, okay?” 

“Huey and Louie,” Dewey hears himself mutter. His brothers haven’t made a sound. 

“Fine, yes, Huey and Louie, too. But only them. You must promise me.” 

“Okay.” Dewey wishes Uncle Donald would let go. He looks past him and sees that Huey has his Thinking Face on, listening carefully, with Louie watching owlishly beside him. 

“Promise me you won’t use that fire anymore.” 

Dewey’s throat feels dry. He’s not warm anymore. He says nothing. 

Uncle Donald gives Dewey’s hands a single, desperate shake. “ _ Promise _ , Dewey!”

Wherever his mom may be, for some reason he wants her. He says, “I promise.” 

**… they would carry me home, they’d lead me to you.**

“What was he saying?” Huey asks once Uncle Donald lets Dewey go, the three of them huddled in a circle on the rug on their bedroom floor. His eyes are impossibly wide. 

“He told me not to make fire with my hands anymore,” Dewey tells them.

Louie, his legs crisscrossed, raises his eyebrows. “You can make  _ fire _ with your hands?” he asks. “Like waterbending?” 

“I think. Yeah.” 

The room is silent. Neither of them laugh. They can tell when Dewey’s joking. 

“Wow,” Huey breathes after a moment. He gazes at Dewey with a new reverence. “Can we see?” 

Dewey feels raw and nothing else. He looks down. He remembers the hot yellow bursts. He remembers Uncle Donald’s clammy hands in his warm ones. He remembers the biting fear in Uncle Donald’s eyes. 

Scared for him? Or scared of him? 

He curls up on himself and says quietly, “No.” 

**i’m a fool for adventure, you know?**

After that day, things become very different for Dewey and his brothers, yet somehow remain just like they always have been. Their family adapts to this new aspect of their life, this daunting truth that they all must accept, with seamless precision. They’re back to chasing each other helter-skelter around the yurt the following morning (and Dewey remembers the happy feeling of soft fire on his hands and pushes it down because fire made Uncle Donald sad, it’s not good, it’s  _ bad _ ). Uncle Donald still cooks cold stewed sea prunes and seaweed bread for supper, and the bread is still as unbearably chewy as ever. They still go out to play with their friends, the batch of other little kids in the village their age who, Dewey learns to understand as they all grow older, all have mothers and fathers fighting in a war somewhere far away. 

It's actually pretty easy to hide it, all things considered. It doesn't seem to pose any trouble for Louie, but Dewey’s a bad liar, Huey even more so. The way Dewey manages is by always reminding himself that he isn’t  _ lying  _ to the village; no one has ever once asked him if he was a firebender, which means there’s no  _ fathomable  _ (a Huey Word) way he could possibly be lying even the slightest bit, so there. 

That’s right. Nothing. He hasn’t lied about anything. He’s not a liar. 

He and his brothers are six one day when they’re out with other village kids and someone suggests they play war. 

“You guys,” the little girl leading the group declares, pointing to the triplets, “can be the Fire Nation!”

Dewey isn’t as smart with connotations as Huey, and maybe he doesn’t always pick up on stuff like Louie, but he hears the word  _ fire _ paired with  _ nation _ as they plan a game of war and he understands. 

The village kids’ parents are all away, fighting in a real war. 

Oh.

A war against the Fire Nation. A nation full of firebenders. 

Oh, then. 

Dewey’s hands curl into trembling fists in his pockets and he shoves them down, as far in as they can go, wishing he could bind his hands in leather so—so he’ll never have the chance of ever using them for _bad_ _things_. 

He gets his wish on a spring day years later, just before they turn ten. The nights are getting shorter and the days aren’t so cold anymore. Louie leaves his mittens in the yurt before they go into the village that morning, claiming he doesn’t need them, and even the ever-paranoid and prepared Huey’s hands are bare. Dewey puts his own mittens down beside his brothers’ on the kitchen table and goes to follow them outside when a hand on his wrist holds him back. 

“Wait a second,” Uncle Donald says, and turns Dewey around by his shoulders. “I’ve got something for you.” 

“For me?” Dewey perks up a bit. It’s rare he gets anything without Huey and Louie getting gifts, too. “Is it a superpowered fishing hook? My own personal sled that I don’t have to share? Ooh! Are you finally gonna let me steer the boat—”

“ _ No _ ,” Uncle Donald scolds, but he’s laughing (and Dewey pouts a little, because those were really good ideas). He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a silvery gray pair of—

“Gloves?” Dewey eyes them strangely. “But it’s so warm out already. And my other ones are just fine.” 

“They’re not just regular gloves.” Uncle Donald holds them out. Dewey takes them. They feel smooth and cold in his hands, not fluffy like his mittens. “It’s sealskin leather. I got it from the elders, told them I was making new boots.”

Slowly, Dewey pulls them on. The inside is made of the same coldness. They fit perfectly. 

Dewey is almost ten, and he knows what a firebender is. Still, he asks, “Why?” 

Uncle Donald pauses. Then he smiles—a little tired, a little sad. “Dewey,” he says. “We can’t be too careful.” 

He takes Dewey’s hands gently, and all of a sudden Dewey feels five again.

“Just wear them when we go out from now on. Okay?” 

“Okay,” Dewey mumbles after a moment. “Fine.” 

“That’s my boy.” Uncle Donald wraps him in a hug. “I’m proud of you. So grown up already. Your mother would—” 

He stops there, and says nothing else. 

They go outside, and for the rest of the day Dewey feels cold again, like all the warmth has been seeped out of him, from his chest down his arms and out through the gloves. For the second time in his life, he feels like the people around him are scared of him, and this time he’s old enough to know why, but he only wishes they didn’t  _ need  _ to be and that they would  _ stop _ . 

**inside my heart, feeling the inferno.**

Avatar Lena swirls her spoon in her bowl of stew and hums thoughtfully. “Okay, wait, so let me get this straight. Louie is a waterbender, Huey’s a nonbender, and Dewey’s…?”

“A disappointment?”

“ _ Hilarious _ , Louie.” 

Louie smirks at Huey’s disapproving look, snickering to himself. “I try, thank you.”

Dewey shoots Louie a glare of his own and watches Huey sigh wearily across the campfire. Sarcastic Huey means that his oldest brother is feeling especially done with the world tonight. Well, big mood, at least. 

“I’m a nonbender, too,” Dewey fills in. He trains his eyes on his own stew and stirs mindlessly, trying to look nonchalant. Back at the South Pole, he’d grown up pretending to be a nonbender practically his whole life, and it was never something he needed to  _ explain  _ to the villagers—it was rare he ever even had to say it out loud. Doing so now felt like trying to swallow a rock.

For an agonizing beat, Lena doesn’t say anything. All Dewey hears is the crackling of embers. Then, breaking the silence, she snorts. Almost inaudible, she laughs under her breath, “Lame.”

“Hey!” Huey protests. Dewey looks up just in time to see his brother indignantly snap his notebook shut. “Nonbenders are cool, too.”

Lena bursts into a full-on fit of giggles. “No, yeah, sorry. I’m sorry. You’re right.” She sighs deeply, trying to catch her breath, and smiles like she’s just been told an inside joke. “I guess it’s just what I’m used to. At the Air Temple, practically everyone was a bender. If you weren’t, it meant you were  _ super  _ lame.” Lena’s smile fades into something sad, then. “Guess I’d better forget about that, though. Wouldn’t want whatever I remember about airbender culture getting in the way of… whatever it is we’re doing now.” 

_ Whatever it is we’re doing now _ . 

It’s the first time Lena’s mentioned the Air Temple since they left the place, three days ago. It prompts a much longer moment of silence. 

“Don’t go forgetting all that stuff,” Louie says suddenly. He slurps up the rest of his stew and sighs with satisfaction, looking into the fire. “We need your Air Nomad, Spirit World, majestic Avatar mumbo-jumbo to help us get to the North Pole safely, right? And to take down the Fire Nation.” 

The Fire Nation. From what Dewey knows (which isn’t much, he realizes the more he thinks about it, remembering that they and the dozen or so other kids in the tribe received their education from a kooky village elder in a tiny tent that doubled as a classroom), the war between the Fire Nation and the rest of the world has raged on for nearly a hundred years. Invasion after invasion, the Southern Water Tribe was battered and broken, their fighting spirit crushed after every raid, their waterbending warriors taken away as prisoners, leaving only a shell remaining of the great tribe it used to be. Meanwhile, the Northern Water Tribe hid itself away early on in the war, barricading themselves behind a great wall of ice and offering no help to their crumbling sister tribe in the south.

Dewey watches Lena examine her sea prunes suspiciously, wrinkling her nose. Being the Avatar  _ does  _ make her a firebender, technically, and even though Dewey’s known her for less than a week he can already tell she doesn’t seem like the type to go snatching innocent waterbenders from their villages. It’s weird to imagine a firebender that  _ doesn’t _ do that sort of thing. Their old teacher may be a ninety-something-year-old man who believes that taking baths in ice water helps you fall asleep faster, but if there was one thing he was absolutely certain about during lessons, one thing he wanted drilled into their minds more than anything else, it was that the Fire Nation was the true villain in this war. The firebenders had begun it with their attacks on the Air Temples, and they had struck first on the Water Tribes and the Earth Kingdom, too. They started this fight, and it was only a duty to protect the people of their own countries that prompted the rest of the world to finish it. Firebenders were always, always the ones to blame, no matter what. 

But in the few days he’s known Lena, she’s been a paradox (another Huey Word), someone who’s gone against nearly everything Dewey’s ever been taught about firebenders. 

( _ About  _ other _ firebenders, Dewey, you’re still one of them. _ )

She’s snarky and fun to be around, she knows when to be sincere and when to laugh, and she’s only ever gone Crazy Avatar Mode when she was in danger or when she was upset at the Air Temple. She introduced Dewey to her flying bison, the coolest animal  _ ever _ , and she didn’t try to capture Louie in the name of the almighty and powerful Fire Nation when she saw him waterbend for the first time. Which could still mean nothing, because she has no ties to the Fire Nation whatsoever  _ anyway _ —but still, Dewey looks at her nimble hands stirring her stew and imagines them burning the world to ashes. 

Dewey looks at Lena and remembers what she is. And he remembers what he is, too. 

**barely catching my breath, lay my eyes on the crest…**

Webby and Lena are practicing again. Dewey is watching again. 

He hears Huey and Louie packing up camp behind him, Louie muttering frustrated curses as he messes with the sleeping bags and Huey  _ swish swish swishing  _ through the knee-high grass, pacing and talking under his breath, probably checking off that they aren’t forgetting stuff. The Fire Navy is still tracking them. They can’t afford to come back for anything, and they can’t afford to waste time. 

But they’re still packing up, and Webby saw this as enough time to keep showing Lena her basics. 

Lena’s looked like an entirely new person since Webby showed up. Well, since Webby showed up  _ on their side _ —tracking their group down in order to bring the Avatar to the Fire Nation and secure her rightful spot as the Fire Lord’s heir didn’t really count. But Lena underwent a practically dramatic change when Webby joined them for good. From the moment they’d lugged Lena out of that iceberg all those months ago in the South Pole, soaked and shivering and full of memories a hundred years past, she had been… closed off. While Louie taught her waterbending, Huey had taught her gentleness and Dewey had helped her learn to remember what joy felt like in a world without airbenders, of which he was more than a little proud of both of them for. Eventually she was joking more and smiling more, and after a while it no longer felt like this worldwide field trip to master the elements in one year a century after the extinction of her people was absolute torture for her, but there had still been something missing. Something about her still seemed dimmed, like a watery, half-smothered candle. 

With Webby, though? If he had to pick a Huey Word to describe Lena now, Dewey would call her  _ radiant _ . 

And not just because she’s firebending. 

Dewey shifts a little bit, making sure he doesn’t look away for even a second. Up until now, Webby had only been showing Lena beginner forms without the bending aspect, just helping her go through the motions and learn the basics of how a firebender moves, but this morning she’s apparently satisfied. After Lena had wrapped up one final drill with ease, Webby had told her, with no shortage of giddiness, “You’re ready to use some real  _ fire  _ now!” 

And Lena had hesitated mid-stance, her right foot forward and fist on an angle into the sky. Then she smiled, relaxed, and said, “Okay, then. Let’s get fired up.” 

Now Dewey sits on a rock not thirty feet away, his hands in his lap as he watches Webby demonstrate, flowing through this familiar form as easily as wading through cool water. She moves confidently in a straight line, stance by stance, and every time she strikes into the open air, with her fist or her foot or her open palm, she brings hot flame with it. Dewey feels his fingers twitch rhythmically with each strike. And when Webby finishes the form with the same stance Lena had held, planting her foot in the grass, pointing her fist toward the rising sun and blasting an unrepentant lick of big flames into the early morning air, Dewey is pretty sure he forgets to breathe. 

Dewey closes his mouth with a sharp  _ snap _ when he realizes he’d been counting her movements—when he realizes he’d been  _ keeping track _ . He shouldn’t be counting. He’ll never need to know any of this. 

“So! How does that look?” Webby chirps,  _ swish swish swishing _ back to Lena. She looks mildly out of breath and it’s an exhilarated kind of breathlessness and—and Dewey feels himself  _ latch _ onto it. His fingers hum like he just drank five cups of Huey’s favorite energy-concentrating herbal tea. “I think you should focus on those first three positions, and remember, it’s all about how you move your shoulder during the—”

She stops there, because Dewey releases that breath he’s been holding in a shuddery, reverent sigh, and a gust of wind carries it across the field. Webby looks and sees Dewey there on the rock. 

“Oh, hi, Dewey!” Webby waves a hand above her head, the same hand that just birthed an undeniable swath of broiling fire. She thinks for a moment, then offers, “Wanna practice with us? I mean—if you don’t mind, Lena—”

“It’s cool,” Lena says.

“I—” Dewey’s fingers  _ burn _ . “No. Nope. It’s fine. I’m… not supposed to firebend.” 

What used to be the simplest truth of Dewey’s life feels now like it’s something he should be embarrassed about, which is kind of the weirdest feeling ever. Why is he worried? Like, there are two firebenders right in front of him—one was  _ literally  _ raised in the Fire Lord’s palace. What are they gonna do? Fly back to the Southern Water Tribe and have a juicy gossip sesh with all of the nice old village ladies who used to let Dewey give their grandkids piggyback rides, talking about how  _ yes _ , they remember those three little Duck children, and weren’t they the same ones who fled the South Pole all by themselves and abandoned their own uncle, and  _ oh _ , didn’t that Dewey used to be so wonderful, such a charming young boy that one was, so very sweet and sincere, what a shame he turned his back on all of us and  _ lied _ , what a shame he turned out to be a little  _ freak  _ and a  _ fire-mongrel _ and a  _ fraud _ , yes, that’s a shame, isn’t it, dearies? More tea? 

Lena cocks her head. With her hand on her hip, she looks almost challenging. “How come?” 

“Because,” Dewey starts, and needs a minute to think. How does he explain to firebenders that fire is the most dangerous thing in the world? “Because I… have never practiced before?”

To Dewey’s horror, Webby doesn’t look deterred in the slightest. “Why didn’t you just say so?” she exclaims, gasping softly. She rushes up to Dewey. “I completely get it now—so that’s why I never see you use your bending!” 

“Heh, yeah. Totally.”

“Well,” Webby says brightly, grabbing at Dewey’s arm and dragging him back towards Lena, “all the more reason to start now. I’m gonna make  _ both  _ of you into firebending prodigies, just watch!” 

Dewey lets her. He knows that he shouldn’t be doing this, knows that on Huey’s comprehensive list of Things Dewey Should Not Do that  _ firebend _ is likely bolded and underlined three times at the very top—but he lets Webby position him by the shoulders in the center of the clearing. He lets her turn to Lena, fumbling with her words in the way she does  _ only  _ when talking to Lena, and ask her to wait to the side for just a moment, she wants to try something with him, if that’s okay. Lena shrugs, face comfortably blank, and steps back some. 

The grass tickles Dewey’s ankles as Webby explains, “We’re gonna try Sozin's fifth basic form. It’s one of the first ones Granny taught me when I started my training, and it’s pretty beginner-level, so you should catch on fast.” 

“O-Okay.” Dewey clears his throat. “Cool.” 

Webby beams encouragingly, and Dewey is reminded starkly of how calculating and professional she looked only moments ago, giving a demonstration of an advanced firebending form. She’d used to look that intimidating all the time, Dewey remembers, and he thinks back further into the months before, when she’d chased them across the land and sea with armies that burned down forests and torched through towns, angry flames unfurling from her fingers and a steely hunger in her eyes for the one person, the one  _ prize _ , that could earn her the glory she so craved. 

But Dewey doesn’t think about that. Or he tries not to. 

He thinks instead of a few weeks ago, early after she had joined the group, the first time he’d been watching her firebend. He had sat beside his brothers and tuned out their discussion of their half-planned route, raptly fixated on Webby as she’d shown Lena a form that she didn’t expect her to learn but wanted her to see anyway. Dewey had taken note of her style shifting, the way she moved stiff and strong rather than with the easy, almost waterbender-like flow she usually had. The way she curved in a wide arc, a semicircle, the stances she paused in so low to the ground that they made her look like some prowling, twirling animal. The way she completed the form leaning sideways, her fists punched into the space next to her, almost as if to meet two more in the middle.

It had been a sacred form, he’d heard her telling Lena—an ancient dance performed at ritual ceremonies. He also recalled something else she said. Something about it traditionally being a  _ duet _ .

Dewey glances out of the corner of his eye at Lena. She’s smirking. Dewey has just enough time to be filled with a deep sense of dread—because Lena’s sense of humor is dangerously warped and if she’s amused then something is definitely about to happen to bruise Dewey and/or his pride—before she speaks, her words dripping with fake innocence.

“Actually, Webby, before you two start, can you tell me what that sacred form thing you showed me that one time was again?”

Oh, come  _ on _ . 

“What?” Dewey says. “Wait, hold on—”

“Sacred form thing?” Webby blinks. “Oh, right, the Dancing Dragon! Granny learned it from her masters when she was my age. It’s a traditional technique, passed down by the Sun Warriors for thousands of years.” 

“Ooh, sounds fancy,” Lena muses. “Dewey, you like to dance, right? This should be  _ right  _ up your alley.” 

“No—no, Webby, it’s okay, seriously, we can just do Sozin’s basic whatever—”

But Webby isn’t listening. “It  _ is  _ the perfect conditions for it,” she mutters, hands trailing the tops of the tall grass, eyes surveying the open field. “And it’s gonna take Louie at least another ten minutes to figure out how sleeping bags work, so… I suppose… we can try.”

**… gonna square up to all of the heat that is left.**

“Holy smokes!” Webby says. She squeals and gives a little appreciative clap. “And you said you’ve  _ never _ trained before?” 

Dewey straightens up, stepping out of the final stance and rolling his shoulder back to get the stiffness out. “Uh, there weren’t a ton of firebending masters in the South Pole, so, no.” 

“I’m so honored to be your first teacher!” Webby is practically bobbing up and down with excitement. “I didn’t know you were gonna be such a quick learner. I always thought the dance was pretty hard, even without the fire.” 

Dewey doesn’t know how to feel about that. Part of him swells with pride, because Webby’s still the second coolest person he’s ever met (behind Lena, of course) and her praise feels honest and meaningful, resonating somewhere deep in him that he’s never taken notice of before. 

But mostly, he just feels his nerves fray when Webby calls herself his  _ teacher _ . Does that make him a student? A student who learns to make fire come from his hands, from someone raised to believe her nation to be the greatest in the world? Webby  _ isn’t _ cool, what is he thinking, she tracked them down like a ruthless predator and hurt his brothers and tried to take Lena away. She’s from the Fire Nation, and the Fire Nation kills people, has been killing people for a hundred years. She’s been molded to be just like the rest of them. She  _ will  _ be just like the rest of them. 

The thing is, though, every time Dewey looks for that same simmering malice in Webby’s eyes, the hatred for life that every firebender they’ve ever faced has shared, the proof that she’s just as evil as he knows she  _ should  _ be—

Every time he looks, he can’t find it. 

On most nights, Dewey’s the first person to fall asleep; being on the run really takes it out of you, apparently. But sometimes, after the campfire dies down, Dewey looks up at the stars and thinks about home. He thinks about the village and the yurt and Uncle Donald, and what Uncle Donald made him say that day when he was five.  _ You must promise me.  _ His hands had held his so tightly. 

“I think,” Lena calls, from where she’s plopped herself on Dewey’s rock, “that everything you learned all those times you stalked our lessons is probably getting some good use right now, blue guy.” 

So Lena had noticed him watching them. Dewey doesn’t even know where to begin on how to feel about  _ that _ . 

“It looks like you’ve got the form down perfectly.” Webby’s arms sway at her sides. She gives Dewey a smile that’s doubtless, intrepid, utterly certain.

_ Promise me you won’t use that fire anymore.  _

“Let’s try the real thing,” she says. 

_ Promise, Dewey! _

Dewey gulps. He nods. 

Time slows down as they get into position. It feels like Dewey is dragging his feet through a sticky sludge, like the thick slush that covers the ground the morning after the snow melts, but his senses almost seem to heighten. He can hear the wind whistling in the grass and rustling the tree line at the edge of the field, smell the clean air and faint scent of wildflowers, see the faraway shock of pink in Lena’s hair. Feel Webby’s back pressed firmly against his own, right where he knows the Fire Nation insignia remains branded on her vest. 

For an infinite moment they stand there, and the wind blows, and Dewey doesn’t move, and he wonders what Uncle Donald would think. 

Then he feels Webby move. Dewey begins. 

It starts smoothly enough. Dewey rises into the starting position, balancing on one foot and holding both arms up at his sides. For a split second he worries about which direction to go in, because Webby never told him and how is he supposed to know and  _ oh jeez this situation has gotten a lot more stressful since I let Webby drag me off that rock _ , but then Webby appears out of the corner of his eye, moving right, and Dewey mirrors her.

He’s halfway toward making his first strike when he catches Webby in the edge of his vision again, bright orange and red mushrooming out in front of her in a fiery burst, and it’s enough to let him know that now it’s  _ his _ turn it’s your turn go  _ now _ —

Dewey thrusts outward and fire shoots from his fist. 

A shudder wracks through him, but he’s compelled not to stop; he knows he needs to keep going. He makes his second strike and again the fire comes, willed from of him by something unseen just as much as he forces it out. It’s a pale orange color, nearly yellow, and it gives off hardly any heat. Whatever spirit residing in him must be weak from lack of use, but it’s  _ fire _ and he hasn’t made fire on purpose in six years and Dewey presses on because something about this feels  _ right _ . 

For the rest of the dance he follows along with Webby, seeing her extravagant displays of flame and creating his own in turn as best he can. He remembers the steps and puts his arms in the right spots and makes fire when he needs to, surprisingly thinking about little else, because turns out bending forms require a focus he’s not used to needing and there isn’t time to ponder his deepest darkest feelings about firebending when he’s got a dance to do. It’s only at the end, as Webby finishes in that same position he saw her in the first time, her fists to the side  _ like she’s waiting to meet two more in the middle _ , that it happens. A surge of  _ something  _ roars to life in Dewey, racing down his limbs and to the tips of his fingers until he feels them sparking. Dewey sucks in a deep breath and leans forward, releasing everything—the ugly feeling he’s had for so long that he’s been  _ wrong _ , the hot energy roiling through his body, and one hearty battle cry for good measure—in his last strike. His fists collide with Webby’s in a thunderous explosion. 

Fire is loud, Dewey realizes. It crackles and breathes, sounding like something living, and over the roar of the blaze, he hears someone cry out, “Dewey,  _ wow _ !”

When it fades and everything is silent again save for the wind, he realizes two things. The first is that Huey and Louie must have come over during the dance from the opposite end of the field, because now they stand next to Lena’s rock, watching Dewey like he just took down the Fire Lord all by himself. The second realization is that his face really aches. 

He has a third, mini-realization a moment later that it’s because he’s  _ smiling _ . He’s smiling so hard it hurts. 

A breathy “Whew!” from beside him gets his attention. Dewey turns to see Webby brushing the front of her vest and stretching her arms in front of her. “That was intense. I’ve never done that with a partner before. Granny usually just watched me go solo.” She fixes Dewey with an enthusiastic, eager look. “So, how was it? How did it feel? Amazing, right? I noticed you started off a little weak, but once you practice some more, firebending will definitely come more naturally over time!” 

“I… yeah, Webs. I think you may be right.” 

“Dewey!” Huey squeaks, finally finding his voice. He hurries the short distance to the pair of them. “What were you—what are—how did you—” A series of deep breaths, and Dewey prepares for the worst, then Huey manages, “That was  _ incredible _ .” 

“Seriously?” Dewey hesitates. “You’re—you’re not mad? Or worried I’m going to burn you all to death?” 

“Of  _ course  _ not!” Huey says, sounding baffled. “Well, that last part is always a possibility. But barring Lena’s Avatar State and that one time Webby fit ten fishsticks in her mouth at once, that was the most fascinating thing I’ve  _ ever  _ seen.” He pulls out his notebook and begins writing at a furious pace. “With some more practice and training from Webby… you could be a  _ really _ powerful fighter, Dewey. If I’d have known you had this much untapped potential all this time—” 

Huey breaks off, turning his attention fully to his notebook and muttering excitedly under his breath. 

Dewey hears Webby giggle quietly beside him. He gives her a questioning look. “Nothing,” she says quickly. “He just sounds like someone I know.” 

And Dewey grins again, because it’s reminding Dewey of something, too—the way Huey had looked at him when they were little, when he first told him and Louie he could firebend. Huey’s gaze holds the same wonder and astonishment that it did on that day so long ago. Love for his big brother almost overwhelms Dewey when he understands that this means, after everything that’s happened, Huey’s view of him has never changed.

Lena slides off of the rock, a breeze billowing around her to land her smoothly in the grass, and walks up to them. “Remind me not to get on your bad side,” she says, smiling slyly. Her eyes twinkle like she knew what would happen all along. 

Dewey makes a note to thank her later. 

“I never thought I’d say this, and even now it pains me to do so,” Louie admits, sauntering up to their group at last, “but that  _ was _ an impressive display, Dewford.” 

Dewey feels his old confidence return. “I know it was, dear brother. Thanks!” 

“Even the part where you were doing that funky dance.”

“Thanks!”

“Even if fire’s still the worst element.” 

“Thanks—wait, hey!” 

Lena cackles. Webby laughs and knocks into Huey, who makes an undignified yelping noise when she jostles his notebook. Then they’re all laughing, Dewey loudest of all. They stand in the tall grass underneath a blue sky in a moment of rest. Soon they will leave, remove all traces that they were ever here, and move on to their next hideout for a day, where Huey can chart their course and Louie can take a nap using Chit-Chat as a big fluffy pillow and Webby can train Lena, and maybe—just maybe—she can give Dewey some pointers every once in a while, too. 

Dewey is eleven years old. He has learned what a firebender isn’t. He knows what  _ firebending _ isn’t, too: it isn’t scary, or bad, or good. There are firebenders who are evil, and there are firebenders who aren’t. Lena is a firebender, Webby is a firebender, his mom was a firebender, and  _ he  _ is a firebender, which he’s still getting used to, by the way. Things just got a whole lot more confusing, and he may not know what firebending means to him just yet, and part of him thinks he may never know, and all of that? 

That’s okay. 

**so i carry the torch to inferno,** **_inferno_ ** **!**

**Author's Note:**

> A little more background on my interpretation of this AU:
> 
> Della and Donald were raised in the palace and were direct heirs to Scrooge, the Fire Lord, until they grew up and realized the wrongs that they were committing and that everything the Fire Nation was doing was actually, you know, very bad. They escaped into the Earth Kingdom, and sometime during this Della had HDL (with a waterbender, most likely, as Louie's a waterbender in this fic, but whoever it was isn't important lmao) before the Fire Nation found them. Della was captured for treason and Donald only just barely escaped with the kids, and he fled to the South Pole, hoping to raise them there quietly and wait out the rest of the war. Enter firebender Dewey, who complicated things. Webby, meanwhile, was also raised in the palace, as her grandmother, General Beakley, is Scrooge's head military adviser. She knows the Fire Lord had two wards that failed him long ago, and she also knows that if there's one thing she can do that will earn her a definite spot as Scrooge's most trusted new heir to the throne, it's capture the Avatar. 
> 
> Thank you for reading!!! If you enjoyed or if there was something I could've done better, please comment and tell me what you think! Have a nice day!


End file.
